


From the Ground Up

by arcadianambivalence



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, ep: S09 E09, holy terror, spn 9x09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 13:05:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadianambivalence/pseuds/arcadianambivalence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Gazing at Dean Winchester, a Good Man, Cas knew his cause.  Maybe it was God’s will for him to join the Winchesters.  Maybe it was his own free will.  Either way, he vowed in that moment to not leave Dean’s side as long as he needed him."  A Coda to 9x09.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the Ground Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snowprincecas](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=snowprincecas), [Bookkbaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookkbaby/gifts).



Once again, he had screwed up.  Sam was dead.  Years ago, a hundred lifetimes ago, he had clung to his desperation, his dependence, sitting by Sam’s side, holding vigil over his brother, the brother he failed.

 _What am I supposed to do?_   He had cried in desperation.  _What am I supposed to do?_

 So he had traded places, the only answer he had never known.  Years later, he was alone again.  At the edge of the pit, half wondering if things would be better if he just threw himself in after Sam and Adam.  But they weren’t just Sam and Adam, and he had made a promise.

And now once more, he was left without his brother.

Sam was gone.  The angel pretending to be Ezekiel was gone.  Kevin was gone.  All because of him, all because Dean could not let go.

 Charlie had once asked him if he would ever move on from his family, from his mother, father, and now brother.  _Never,_ he answered firmly. 

_Never._

He had lost two brothers, cremated two fathers, parted with two mothers, said goodbye to a sister, a grandfather, a daughter.  And now he had to bury one more, bury one more son of a bitch who died because of him.

It would never end.

A year ago, not even a year ago, he and Sam had stood over Henry Winchesters grave, Sam ruminating on the past and Dean on death.

_All I see in our family tree is a whole lot of dead._

And now, one more.

* * *

 

Dean was behind the bunker, collecting branches for a pyre, when Cas found him.  At first, he did not want to say anything.  Dean had lost so much, and Cas had not been there when he needed him.  In his past few months as human, Castiel had learned about time, about how humans experienced time.  And at that moment, watching Dean snap limbs off branches and tossing them onto a pile on the ground, time stopped for Cas.

He recalled the time he had stood at the edge of Lisa Braeden’s yard and studied Dean, questioning whether or not to drag the mourning man who had already lost so much into his affairs.  At the time, he thought leaving Dean ignorant was a selfless act, but time proved his selfishness, how he pridefully thought he could lead Heaven, that he could return to Dean and show how powerful he was.

_Pride cometh before the fall._

The human phrase pushed at the edge of his mind.  And he had fallen in more ways than one.

_In every way imaginable._

In Purgatory, he had tried to repent, to serve out a lifetime sentence of punishment for his actions, for his failures.  But Naomi had intervened.  Too often, he attempted to do good, to make up for the misery and devastation he caused, but every time, something else happened, someone else came along, and he had more to atone for. 

When he tried to take lead Heaven, he bargained with Crowley for a hundred souls.  Crowley, the self-proclaimed King of Hell who now sat locked up in the bunker’s dungeon. 

Things change, he realized, for worse, for better, and each time he had tried to save his face, to rebuild Heaven into what he thought worked best, he had failed.  Maybe the point was not to try to save what he alone could not save, to save a hundred, a hundred thousand, souls.  Maybe the point of all of this was to save _one._  

Years ago, that had been his mission: to save one soul, the soul of the Righteous Man.  He had charged into Hell, slaughtered the demons who rose against him, and fought his way to his goal.  Raising a soul from Perdition was one of the highest honors for a soldier such as he was.

And with Dean’s soul rose Castiel’s pride and dedication, or at least, that is what he considered it to be at the time.  Maybe Naomi altered that memory, as well.

 _What you’re feeling, it’s called doubt._  

Anna had whispered this to him, perhaps not for the first time, to entice him to stop Dean from torturing Alistair.  He had turned away from her, certainly not for the first time.

 _I am nothing like you._   He had reproached.  _You_ fell.

Of course, he knew then, deep down, that she was right, that he did doubt God’s word, which wasn’t God’s word at all.  It turned out she was right about another thing, too.  And he had repaid her with treachery, turning her in to Heaven, to Naomi, he realized much later.

He had begun to wonder if, and now he was certain, that he was following Anna’s footsteps.  Tortured.  Fallen.  And claiming Grace to escape the threat of Hell and Heaven.

She was gone.  He lost her when she fell and again when he threw her back into the life she hated.  She was gone, but he remembered her remarkable ability to forgive.

 _I’ll find some way to redeem myself to you_. 

Broken, he had vowed this to Dean, especially to Dean.  That was before the Leviathan attacked, before his wrong-doings consumed him.  And he thought he was doing God’s will, or that was what he told himself at the time.

Maybe Uriel was right.  Maybe angels would never know God’s will.

Perhaps Gabriel knew God’s will.  He was His messenger, after all.  And he promised that God wanted the angels to love humanity.

He remembered Meg, or so the Winchesters called her.  Meg was not her name, but she only smirked and shook her head when he asked her who she really was.  He remembered her words.

_You find a cause and you serve it.  Completely._

She was dead, as were Uriel and Gabriel.  So many of his brothers and sisters were long gone, many because of him.  And now one more.  Muriel, who he drug into his problems.  Muriel, who would never have a proper burial, not like Kevin.

Their causes were humanity, and so was his.

 Dean, too, served humanity.  He saved people.  He had no Grace, no powers, but he saved lives.  So many times, Dean tried to die for others, for Sam, but he was too important to Heaven’s plans to let go of.  He was important to _Cas_ for Cas to let go of him.  He abandoned Dean in Purgatory, to save Dean, to inflict further pain upon himself.  Either way, he left Dean, who had every right to be angry.  But, instead of being furious, Dean ran to him and embraced him.

Dean, too, could forgive.

And in that moment, Castiel let go of any resentment towards his fallen brothers and sisters.  He forgave Anna for falling, for leaving him and not coming back to finish him off.  He forgave Uriel for trying to kill him, for trying to raise Lucifer.  He forgave Gabriel for abandoning his post to live among humans.  He forgave everyone he had ever judged because he was too proud or could not empathize with their experiences.  He forgave them all.

He forgave so that he could move forward and carry on.  Gazing at Dean Winchester, a Good Man, he knew his cause.  Maybe it was God’s will for him to join the Winchesters.  Maybe it was his own free will.  Either way, he vowed in that moment to not leave Dean’s side as long as he needed him.  They would rebuild lives from the ground up, including their own.

 Now more certain of this than anything else, he approached Dean. 

“Hello, Dean.”  He murmured.

Dean dropped the branches and spun around, mouth open and just as shocked, as vulnerable, as he was every time they met.  Cas had pretended to not notice just how deeply Dean needed him, how much he needed Dean, but no more.

 “Cas?”  Dean gasped.  His face was swollen from a rogue angel’s attack and from tears.  His posture stiffened as he slipped behind that recognizable façade and he gruffed, “What are you doing here?  Don’t you have…a war to prepare for…or something?” 

Cas reached out his hand and touched Dean’s shoulder where he had laid his mark, his claim, on Dean after rebuilding him from Hell.  Meeting Dean’s eyes, Cas replied simply and earnestly, “You needed me.”

Dean’s vulnerability cracked through the façade.  He did not even bother hiding anything anymore.  “Kevin’s dead.  Sam’s dead.  And some dick is running around wearing my brother.”

 “Sounds like our kind of thing,” Cas whispered.

 Visibly shaken, Dean nodded.

“What are we going to do?” 

Dean’s shoulders sagged for a moment and he looked away, gathering his strength before straightening and donning the façade once more.  “We’re going to hunt that bastard down, gank him, and put Sam to rest.”

Slowly, Cas nodded.  Dean’s resolve was enough for him.  He would go where Dean goes.  To the ends of the earth, to the edge of the universe.  Dean Winchester was his cause, and he had fallen for him long before Metatron’s spell was enacted.

“Cmon,” Dean grunted as he stooped to pick up the branches.  He nodded his head toward the makings of the pyre.  “We’ve got work to do.”


End file.
